


no need to say goodbye

by smolsarcasticraspberry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Prompt Fill, and then i wrote 14k words of fic in three days, but it's the good kind of angst you gotta trust me, i legit have a problem, shallura - Freeform, this was supposed to be some short cute oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolsarcasticraspberry/pseuds/smolsarcasticraspberry
Summary: The juniberry tree blossoms every seven years, and when it does, a gateway opens up to another world - a world that Shiro first explores as a child. There, he meets Allura. They do not speak the same language, but children do not need words to play. Every seven years, when the gateway opens again, Shiro steps through to visit the girl he knows on the other side. But the gateway only stays open as long as the juniberry flowers bloom...





	no need to say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt fill based on a couple of 'a softer world' prompts, namely:  
> "When you touch me, my mind is gone. The only words I know are lost inside your body. (right in there.)"  
> "I hate trying to put my desire into words when my body knows exactly what to say. Come home. (You can’t start a fire without a spark.)"  
> it was supposed to be short and cute but HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH OOPS

The juniberry tree blossoms every seven years, bursting into flowers that glow soft white under the shade of the forest. They give off a scent only the gifted can smell, according to Shiro's grandmother. Magic blooms under the juniberry flower's light, she says. And when the berries ripen, those who eat them dream of the fey.

+

The tree first blooms when Shiro is four years old.

He plays deep in the forest, often alone, the only son of poor farmers. Up, up into the woods, climbing the mountainside under the canopy of leaves, chasing forgotten paths between beams of sunlight. There's a cold, sparkling stream that dances down over mossy rocks, and the birds sing and call and bid him climb higher, and he's only a boy - small, clear-eyed, black hair like the wings of a crow - and the forest doesn't seem dangerous. Only breathless and wild and full of promise.

The juniberry blossom calls to him. The scent of it wafts between the trees, and he is too young in this moment to understand the implications of the fact that he can smell it. He knows only that it is soft and sweet and it calls to him, on and on up the hill, until he finds the tree in a tiny, shaded dell surrounded by moss and twigs and fallen stones.

The flowers glimmer like stars and the wind whispers through the branches and sunlight dapples the forest floor before him.

He is not afraid. It feels… homely, somehow. As if he is supposed to be here.

Beneath the tree stand two ancient pillars of white stone. Moss climbs up their sides and cracks cover the worn marks of writing - and even if Shiro were old enough to read, it would be incomprehensible. A branch of the juniberry tree hangs down just so, forming an archway of sorts between the two pillars. His footsteps carry him up to the archway, where the light of the flowers is mesmerising, where the scent of them wraps around him.

Through the archway is another hillside. Different trees. Different moss. Different birds, calling to him with different voices.

He steps through the gate.

The world on the other side is familiar, somehow - moss and trees and stones all look the same, especially to a child - but when Shiro turns to look at the juniberry tree its blossoms are pink, not white. Still, they glow with the same soft light; and the archway is still there, looking like an accident of nature.

He should be afraid, but he knows how to find his way around a forest. He runs off into the trees.

+

 _This_ juniberry tree, in this strange world, sits atop a hill on the very edge of the woods, so that when Shiro runs down the hill towards the distant sound of a river, he soon emerges into warm sunlight and open grassland. The riverbank stands before him - short grass and stones and mud - and water birds drift past on the current.

A girl stands before him, barefoot in the grass.

She has warm brown skin, and a braid of white hair, and pink marks that glimmer beneath her eyes.

" _Ilas_ ," she says. And then beautiful words poor from her lips, and they sound like starlight, but Shiro does not understand them.

"Hello," he says. She does not mind his bafflement. She simply smiles.

+

She does not speak his language. He does not speak hers. But children do not need words to play. The little girl drags him by the hand to the river; shows him frogs and fish and pretty stones. He plucks the strange flowers of this different world and she babbles happily, in that language that sounds like music. They run up the hill and into the trees; they climb into the branches and pluck the leaves and look at bugs that crawl along the living wood.

They play for hours, until the sun begins to set and Shiro senses that it is almost bedtime in the world he has left behind. He is grubby and tired and hungry, and the little girl is smiling happily beside him.

He hears another word, this time called by an adult emerging from the treeline.

"Allura! Allura!"

She looks up, and jumps to her feet, smoothing the muddy creases of her dress. Her name, then. It, too, sounds like music.

"Allura?" he says, and she nods.

"Shiro," he declares, pointing at himself, and she says it back. Then she grins and runs off after the adult who called to her, and Shiro climbs back up the hill and finds the juniberry tree and goes home.

+

He wonders if he will be in trouble. But a farm is a busy place, and his absence was barely noted except that he is late for supper. The sound of the little girl's voice still fills his ears.

Allura. Even her name sounds like sunlight sparkling on a river.

+

That year, the juniberry tree blossoms for nine days. Each day, Shiro runs up the hill and goes through the archway, into the world where Allura lives.

They play by themselves, mostly. Sometimes, there are other children there. Sometimes, a nursemaid watches them discreetly from beneath the trees. But mostly they are by themselves by the riverbank, running in and out of the forest or splashing in the water.

Shiro learns some words in her language, in the easy way children often do. _Fish. Water. Stone. Sky. Sun._ He says his own words back to her, and she understands some of them. But in all honesty, they do not need the words or the understanding of them. Allura holds his hand and runs with him under the trees, and he helps her climb over the stones on the riverbank, and they laugh at birds and frogs and lizards and bugs and he picks flowers for her and none of that needs translating. Not to a four-year-old.

Sometimes, his parents grumble at him for coming home late and dirty. Sometimes, they ask who he has been playing with. But most days he gets a late supper and a warm bath by the fire and a kiss on the forehead before he curls up to sleep. He is not in trouble, and that is all that matters to his parents.

+

On the tenth day, he runs up the hill as usual. But the blossoms have faded; glimmering white petals drift from the tree's branches and come to rest on the forest floor like the ghost of flowers. When Shiro runs up to the arch, there is nothing beyond it but his own, safe forest. He lays his ear to the stone pillar and catches the faint sound of a river, in another world, but the pathway there is closed and gone.

+

The tree does not bloom again until he is eleven. Every seven years, his grandmother said, before she passed away. Every seven years.

He is a lean, sturdy boy with messy hair and quick wits, and he plays in the forest with his friends as the summer days bathe the hillsides in bright, living colours. Dragonflies trace their paths between the trees, and Shiro plays hide-and-seek with some of the other children from the farm.

Today, a strange scent calls him. Today, he will not be found.

His parents had him convinced that Allura was an imaginary friend from childhood; that he dreamed of the other world where she lives, a lonely boy making up stories and inventing friends. But when that familiar sweet smell of the juniberry blossoms calls him - when his questing feet carry him, inexorably, to the strange glade in the forest - he knows in his heart that he did not dream her. She was real.

The gate stands before him: two broken pillars of white stone, a hanging branch adorned with flowers that shine like stars. He steps through without hesitation, and it feels like stepping through the kitchen door of the farmhouse back home.

+

She is there, on the other side. She is taller now - but then so is he - and now he is old enough to notice that she is pretty. Her braid is longer; her limbs slender and strong. When she sees Shiro she runs towards him and flings her arms around him.

A string of musical words burst past her lips, and she babbles in his ear. He hugs her and grins. She is real - she always was - he did not dream her. She pulls back to laugh at his expression; to muss his hair and grip his shoulders and pour more beautiful words around him.

"I missed you!" he says, too excited to consider that of course she does not understand him any more than he understands her.

+

This year, the juniberry tree blossoms for twelve days. Shiro spends all of them with Allura. She has other friends in her world, and Shiro meets some of them; she also has a nanny, a tall, funny-looking man with an orange moustache who follows her around and occasionally scolds her in a way that Shiro somehow understands without the need to comprehend individual words.

They are both older, now, and their adventures are more elaborate. Shiro learns more of her words: _here_ and _there_ , _stay_ and _come_ , _happy_ and _hurt_ and _I like_ and _I want_. The old words come back to him; the ones he learned long ago, when they were just infants splashing in the river together.

They run up the hills and climb the trees, and one day a sudden rainstorm sends them shrieking towards a cave where Allura shows him ancient paintings and crystals. He shows her how to make a fire as they watch the rainfall, and he teaches her some words of his own: _rain_ and _water_ , _fire_ and _warm_ , _hands_ and _touch_ and _smile_.

Some days, they take a little raft down the curve in the river, to a tiny islet where they sit and stare at a castle on the hill. From Allura's gestures Shiro half-understands that maybe… she lives there? Or works there? He's not sure, but it doesn't matter; she shows him how to skip stones on the river, and she catches a butterfly and coos softly at the colours of its wings, and there is no need to understand who she is or where she came from.

Other days, they climb the hills under the trees and look for early ripening berries and bright flowers. They climb the tallest trees they can find until they emerge from the forest canopy and gaze down at the landscape around them. Or they build forts from fallen branches, or have sword fights, or chase each other up and down the hills until they lie breathless and happy on the grass by the river.

It is joy like Shiro has never known before. The nanny brings them drinks and savoury treats and sweet cakes, and Allura helps him wash the mud from his hands and knees, and her smile is brighter than the sunlight itself.

He is old enough now to find her mesmerising; old enough that his heart beats faster whenever she smiles at him. She takes his hand and he doesn't want to let go, and when the sun begins to set and he says goodbye she always hugs him and ruffles his hair.

They are the happiest days of his life. Twelve of them, lined up in a row, gleaming like jewels in his memory.

On the thirteenth day he returns to the glade to find the blossoms falling and the archway closed, and he goes home heavyhearted.

+

The next time the gateway opens, Shiro is eighteen.

He isn't counting the years, exactly, but as the summer days lengthen he feels a strange tug in his heart and he knows that if he climbs the hill into the woods he'll see the first white buds of the juniberry blossoms just coming to life.

He has grown, in the years since he last saw the white flowers. He is tall and lean and sturdy, and the farm work keeps him strong even if he has not quite filled out just yet. It is harder for him to sneak away now that he is no longer a child, left to play alone and entertain himself.

But the juniberry blossoms call to him; they snag at his heart, and that tug bids him climb the hill to the place where sparkling white flowers make a gateway to another world.

+

When he steps through, he finds her world as it has always been. Bright sunlight spears down between the trees, and the birds sing in the branches. He follows the murmur of the river down the hill until the water runs before him. And there, on the grassy riverbank where they played as children, Allura is waiting for him.

She stands when she sees him, and her face lights up and breaks into a grin. She hugs him tightly, like she always has, only now as her arms wrap around him his heart hammers in his chest.

She is breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair shimmers like juniberry flowers, and her eyes sparkle blue and pink in the sunlight, and her lips are full and soft and often shaped into a smile. She takes him by the hand and leads him up into the woods - up a path they have never taken before. He should watch his footing, but instead his eyes stray to Allura, over and over again; the soft curve of her jaw and the slender beauty of her body and the spark of joy in her eyes.

He lets her lead him up the hill until they come out into a clearing, where a tower of white stone rises up above the trees. The floor of the clearing is covered in grass and flowers, and around the base of the tower lies a tended garden and a well. The pleasant scent of herbs and flowers fills the air, and vines of ivy climb the tower's walls so that it looks like the structure was not built, but rather grew from the ground of its own volition. At the base of the tower a shaded cloister overlooks the herb garden, and a few lazy bees work their way through the flowers.

Allura pulls him across the clearing and into the door at the base of the tower - talking all the while in that musical language - and Shiro follows her all the way up the tower until they come out on the roof. She throws her arms wide and turns to him, a bright smile on her face, and he cannot help but smile back. The view is spectacular: the trees below them, the hills behind; the curve of the river, gleaming like a silver ribbon laid across the emerald green of the countryside. In the distance, the castle on the hill catches the light and glints like a gemstone thrown onto green velvet.

"It's beautiful," Shiro says, and even if she doesn't understand, she still blushes.

+

He sees her every day, and every day is like magic. Like starlight caught in the shape of a flower; like sunlight dancing through leaves. They are of the age where they are more inclined to talk than to play, but they still cannot understand each other without the use of gestures and pictures and many misunderstandings. Shiro enjoys trying, though. Allura laughs a lot whenever he tries to tell her a story, and that alone makes the endeavour worthwhile.

They walk through the woods or sit on the roof of the tower; they wander down to the river, pointing at the things they pass and naming them in their respective languages. Shiro goes home every night tired and happy, and makes fresh excuses every morning - he is on an errand, he must go down to the village, he is with a friend. And then he sneaks off into the forest and finds the gate of flowers and slips through, into this world of sunlight and laughter and Allura smiling at him.

One afternoon they are together on the grass beneath the tower, and Shiro is showing her how to shoot a bow and arrow when the sound of horses through the wood makes her startle. Voices carry through the trees, and the smile fades from her face to be replaced with a look of panic. She pushes Shiro into the cloisters, into a corner out of view, her words heavy with urgency even if he does not know what they mean.

A man rides into the clearing - a king. He looks like Allura, and he wears a crown and a cloak over gleaming white armour. He calls Allura's name, and she goes to stand before him.

A heated discussion takes place, the words too quick and the tone too angry for Shiro to pick up on exactly what is being said. Allura gestures around at the clearing and the tower, and the man points repeatedly at a spare horse. Allura calls him _ubdi_ , over and over, and Shiro guess that it means 'father'. Eventually, she relents in the face of his scolding, and allows an attendant to help her onto the spare horse. She glances back as she rides out of the clearing, and her eyes meet Shiro's, and she risks a tiny wave and a smile before she disappears between the trees.

That night, Shiro lies in his bed and contemplates the fact that the beautiful girl he has played with since childhood is a princess.

He wonders if perhaps she will not be allowed to meet him again, but the next day when he returns through the gate she is there as she always is, her smile as bright as ever, her eyes sparkling with joy when she sees him.

He has never been in love before, but when he meets her gaze he's pretty sure this is it. It is the first blossom of love: and he is too shy to act upon it, because the feeling consumes him. Joy fills his veins with every heartbeat, and whenever he looks at her it's like he's breathing starlight. He has no way of telling her that she is the most beautiful person he's ever met, although he knows the word _beautiful_ now - _mesnalya_. She murmured it once when she looked at his eyes, and he lost the ability to speak in any language for almost an hour.

She holds his hand when they walk in the woods, her fingers threaded between his, and sometimes she blushes when she talks to him and he catches maybe one word in five. They sit by the river bank and she sings to him, soft songs that carry the shape of sadness and longing even though the meanings are lost on him, and he sits beside her and twines flowers into her hair. She laughs often, and looks down when she meets his gaze, and he blushes when she brushes his arm and the smile won't leave his face, not for money nor misery, because the sheer size of this overwhelms him entirely.

In the time it takes him to fall in love with her completely, the juniberry flowers blossom and bloom and start to fade. Every evening, she comes with him to the juniberry tree and bids him farewell, sometimes with a brief embrace and sometimes with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

He doesn't know what to do beyond simply being with her. He has heard of love before, of course, but he has never felt it. Never tasted it on every breath. Now it is here, echoing in every heartbeat, and he can do nothing but feel it.

She walks with him to the clearing on what will be their last day together. She smiles at him, but her eyes stray to the flowers and the first wilt of the pink petals. She knows as well as he does that their time is limited. She bites her lip, her expression intense, and Shiro cannot look away from her.

She says something, and her tone carries the sadness of her words even if he cannot comprehend most of them. Shiro glances at the flowers hanging above him. A few more days, perhaps, before they drop.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he says, and he tries to sound reassuring.

Her smile is tight, and she takes a step towards him. Shiro cannot breathe, suddenly, because she lays a hand on his chest and leans up and kisses him. A soft brush of the lips and nothing more, but suddenly there is sunlight where his heart should be. It is the first time he has ever been kissed. He leans forward to kiss her again; to press his lips to hers and keep the taste of her with him, and when he pulls back she smiles up at him.

But he has to go. He has to turn and leave and say goodbye.

+

As he drifts down the hill towards the farmhouse, fireflies emerging around him to light up the twilight, he wonders what would happen if he went back. How long could he stay? And what would happen if the flower petals fell whilst he was still there with her? Would he be trapped forever?

The lights of the farmhouse gleam in the dark, safe and warm and comforting, and he has family here, and friends, and a life that is his own - but Allura is soft and sparkling, she is like starlight given life, and his heart aches for her.

They live in different worlds. There is no hope for this. But love lives inside him, now, carving its truths into his bones, pouring its light into his veins, and when he lies in bed that night he dreams of her in his arms.

+

It rains in the night - a summer thunderstorm that batters the farm and the forest - and when he hurries up the hill the next morning he finds the juniberry blossoms already fallen, borne to the ground by the weight of the rain.

The gate is closed. He told her he would return, and now he cannot. And there is no one in his world who understands the weight of his sadness.

+

The years that pass before the flowers bloom again are marked by sorrow.

' _First love is false love_ ', his grandmother used to say, and Shiro tries to make himself believe it. Perhaps his feelings for Allura were so strong, so overwhelming, simply because he had never tasted love before her. Perhaps the answer is to forget, and try to love again.

There are lovers, down the years. But their eyes do not sparkle the way hers did. Their smiles do not fill his heart with light. He cannot forget her.

He dreams of her, sometimes. But she is like stars to him now - so far beyond his reach she might as well be a ghost.

+

He takes an apprenticeship with the blacksmith down in the village. He has the build for it, and he enjoys the work: the heat of the forge, the glow of the metal as it melts and comes alive, the steady rhythm of the hammer on the anvil. He finds purpose in the working of metal, in the strange alchemy of melting and forging and folding.

But the peace does not last. War breaks out, and dark smoke rises day by day beyond the mountains; and now the soldiers come, scouting for recruits, and Shiro makes weapons instead of horseshoes, and the local youths march off to fight and never return.

Eventually - inevitably - he too must fight. Those are dark years: blood and dirt, fear and trauma and scars.

When he returns home, the war is won. Or so they say; victory and defeat look much alike, Shiro thinks, as he limps through the village and sees the other injured soldiers, their eyes haunted and their faces scarred.

He is missing his arm now, and the blacksmith cannot take him back; he tells him so with a shake of the head, a sad look. Shiro goes back to the farm instead.

His father is injured - hurt when the enemy soldiers marched through the valley and he tried to stand in their path. His mother coughs when the nights get cold; she breathed too much of the black smoke and now the taint of it sits on her lungs. Shiro sits with her by the fire when she gets scared, and rubs her back when her breath will not come.

There is work to be done on the farm, but Shiro struggles with it. He misses his arm, and there is only so much he can do with one hand. His friend Keith comes to stay with them, to manage the farm and the workers, and Shiro is content to let him take the lead.

Nightmares haunt him - ghosts and shadows, the empty echoes of screams and cries - and many nights he sits awake and waits for the dawn. His tossing and turning scares his mother, and he takes to wandering in the woods for long periods. There is an old woodsman's cottage high up on the mountainside, and Shiro goes to stay there - for days or weeks at a time. He hides away the worst of his pain in that cottage beneath the trees, and when he comes down he tries to smile for his parents' sake. But the scars have reached his heart, and his body aches with something beyond tiredness, and sometimes he wishes he had died out there on the battlefield.

+

He does not let himself remember the juniberry tree - does not let himself think of it or dream of it - but his soul is tied to it somehow, and when it blooms again he feels it in his bones. The fragrance of the flowers drifts on the breeze, through the open windows of the woodsman's cottage, and Shiro feels it call to him - a spark of brightness in the darkness that has settled over his heart.

He follows the scent of juniberry blossoms to the secret glade and sits in the grass in front of the archway. The flowers have just burst open, and soft white light fills the hollow, and Shiro feels a sense of peace that has escaped him these past few years.

He cannot go through the gateway - not now. He is tainted. Touched by darkness and hardship, and Allura's world… it shines so brightly, so full of peace and joy and goodness, and he has no goodness left in him. Scars cover his body like cracks, and heavy sorrow sits in his bones, and how can he take that into her world? How can he corrupt that beauty with his ugliness?

He sits in the glade and watches the flowers and tells himself that she would never want him now. It has been years. She might be married, or gone. Even if she has not already forgotten him, she will wish to forget if she sees him now.

He is about to rise and leave when he hears her. Her voice carries through the archway - a faint whisper, almost lost on the breeze. But she is singing, on the other side of the gate. He remembers her voice. He recognises the song. And his heart stirs.

He stands up and steps through the archway.

+

She is waiting on the other side. She stands in the clearing, in a tunic and leggings, her hair braided as it always is, and she sings in that high sweet voice that haunts his dreams.

"Allura," he says, and she opens her eyes.

He braces for her reaction. Horror or revulsion; reluctance or regret. But her eyes light up and her face breaks into a smile and she runs to him - as if they are children, as if she is four years old and he has come to play. She flings her arms around his neck and presses her body to his - and he can breathe, suddenly, and his heart soars, there is light in his chest and tears in his eyes, because she is still here and she still smiles like she always did. He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her into his body and buries his face in her neck and breathes deep and easy for the first time in years.

She pulls back to look at him. Her hands cup his face and she frowns. She traces a finger over the scar that runs across the bridge of his nose, and her words sound like sympathy even though their meaning is unclear to him. She murmurs something else and runs her hand through the hair that hangs over his eyes, turned white by trauma and hardship.

"There was a war," he says, helplessly. Her face is soft when she looks at him, but it is sympathy, not pity, and she still presses her body close to his. Her eyes drift down his shoulder and her questing fingers find the stump of his arm. She makes a 'tsking' sound with her tongue, and Shiro holds his breath. But she looks back up at him with bright eyes, and she lays her hand on his cheek and smiles, and his heart eases.

She takes him by the hand and leads him through the forest to the tower in the clearing. The clearing has acquired more buildings since he last came here - a barn, a henhouse, and a wood-and-brick workshop open to the glade. Several servants come and go across the grass - which is criss-crossed with pathways, now, leading between the tower and the outhouses. A pleasant busyness hangs in the air, and the coming sunset paints the sky with warm reds and golds as Allura leads Shiro across the open space and into the tower.

She says something to one of the servants, who looks at Shiro curiously before asking Allura a question. Allura speaks again - more sternly this time, gesturing towards the outhouses - and the servant shoots Shiro one last glance before she gets up and walks out. Allura takes Shiro's hand again and drags him into the kitchen, her grip firm and her steps assured, leaving no room for protest even if he had the words to make it. She tells him to sit at the table - _garee yen_ , 'sit here', a phrase he actually understands. A cook comes bustling in, and Allura speaks to her - and Shiro understands some of those words too. She is asking for food and drink, and the cook nods and sets about preparing a tray.

Allura goes to one of the cupboards and pulls out a small wooden chest, which she sets on the table. She sits down on the bench next to Shiro - and it feels so normal, so mundane, and he cannot help but think of her father and his crown, and that time she pointed at the castle and half-explained that she lived there. A princess living in a tower, sitting at a kitchen table in a tunic and worn leather boots.

She is as mesmerising and breath-taking as she ever was. He cannot tear his eyes from her.

She rolls up the sleeve of his shirt and inspects the stump of his arm. Her fingers gently trace the scars, and the ugliness of it melts away under her touch. Shiro watches her - soft hands on his skin, and her eyes intense and focused - and she is like a light in the darkness, like a touch of the heavens, and his heart does not ache anymore, and he feels weightless.

She presses a little harder, and he flinches. She looks up at the sound - the hiss of breath through his teeth - and says a word he does not understand.

" _Behra_?" It sounds like a question. She mimics the sound he made; pulls a face, and Shiro grasps her meaning.

"Pain?" he says. " _Behra. Tay, behra._ "

She tilts her head to the side - a gesture of understanding - and rummages through the wooden chest. Bandages and ointments tumble out under her hands, but she ignores them and selects a jar of some bluish-white potion. She makes a circular gesture with her hand, and says a word he does not know: _beyal_.

The confusion must show on his face, because she purses her lips thoughtfully.

" _Umri_ ," she says. She pats his left arm. " _Umri_ ," she repeats, now with a stroking gesture, and ' _umri_ ' again, with a firmer touch, and ' _umri_ ' with just one finger run down his wrist to this hand.

"Touch," Shiro says, suddenly grasping her meaning. " _Umri_? _Umri_." Different types of touch.

She smiles at him, her eyes alight with mirth and joy. She continues the lesson; she touches his arm in different ways, and names each type of touch as she does it. A word for a gentle stroking motion; a word for a firm touch; a word for something feather-light. Shiro nods and repeats them all, trying to commit them to memory. Finally, she rubs his arm in a circling motion, and says " _beyal_ ".

The sudden clarity is like sunlight, and Shiro grins at her. He points at the ointment.

" _Beyal_?" he says, and she smiles. She unscrews the jar and rubs some of the ointment on the stump of his right arm.

" _Beyal_ ," she says. She laughs, but not at him: it is a sound of pure happiness, of a heart made light by joy, and Shiro echoes it back to her. The darkness that had made its home in his heart fragments and fades; her eyes sparkle blue when she looks at him, and the faint hint of a blush stains her cheeks, and he remembers what happiness felt like.

The ointment eases some of the pain, and Shiro thanks her as she reseals the jar and packs it back into the chest with the bandages and potions. The cook brings a tray of refreshments, and Allura pours out hot tea for him.

As he eats and drinks he tries to explain what happened - but how can he explain a war? It takes some creative gestures, but he traces the shape of a sword on the tabletop and Allura clicks her tongue in disapproval. Hopefully she understands.

Eventually, the servant returns with a crate of metal pieces, which Allura lays out on the kitchen table. She pulls Shiro's left arm towards her with a purposeful look in her eyes, but when she catches Shiro's concerned expression she lays a soothing hand on his cheek. She measures his arm with a tape, and eyes the metal pieces in front of her, her teeth worrying at her lower lip and her brows creased together in thought.

Shiro watches her and says nothing. He trusts her. She clicks her tongue and drums her fingers on the table and rearranges the metal pieces to her liking: several smooth panels, some long, slender rods, a handful of cogwheels. Eventually, she has everything set up to her satisfaction.

She reaches into the pocket of her tunic and pulls out a thin crystal wand that glows faintly blue. With it, she draws a circle on the table and marks out the five points of a star with some arcane symbols. She reaches for his left arm and draws a similar circle on his bare skin - a miniature replica of the one on the table. She catches his confused expression and grins, and says something that sounds reassuring - or maybe it is just the soft lilt of her voice that soothes his nerves. When she is done, she presses his hand to the table and says ' _safray_ ' - 'stay'. Keep still.

A hush hangs in the air. Allura lays the wand down on the table and holds out her hands. She begins to chant something - and the chant sounds like music, like singing, like the sweet call of birds rising into the sky. A white glow appears between her hands, and she lays her palms on the table. Wisps of light rise from the circle and spread across the metal parts, their caress like the touch of a lover, and the glow spreads until all the pieces are haloed in white light.

Shiro watches, mesmerised. The pieces rise and twist in the air, and then they come together, slotting into place and merging into one single, solid form.

Allura stops chanting. Her voice fades to a whisper, and the glow dissipates. Shiro looks down at the table - at the circle, and the item she has crafted from the magic of her song.

It is a prosthetic arm.

She picks it up and carries it around the table towards him, and as she draws closer Shiro realises that she modelled it on his own arm. It is made to match him: a perfect mirror of his own left hand.

She gestures for him to stand up, and he obeys in awed silence. She fixes the arm to his stump, tightening and adjusting as she goes. The metal is the colour of gold, but it is hard and firm to the touch, and Shiro can tell it will be strong and sturdy. Fine groves mark the metal, picking out geometric patterns that weave around a series of runes that run down the length of the prosthetic. Four white crystals are set into the arm at intervals: at the bicep, the elbow, halfway down the forearm, and at the wrist. Allura touches the four crystals in turn, and they glow faintly.

They look like juniberry flowers. Like stars, captured and tamed and married to the metal.

As Allura touches the last of the gems, a jolt runs up the arm and into Shiro's shoulder. And suddenly he can feel it - not just the weight but the arm itself, the sense of it, and when he reflexively coils is fingers the metal hand curls up under his subconscious command.

He starts in shock, and looks down at the arm. There is a moment of uncertainty - of adjustment - as his mind races to catch up with what is happening. And then… he wiggles his fingers. He bends his wrist. The arm moves and responds, curling and twisting under his command. It whirs softly, and the gems glow and sparkle with the movements.

He looks up at Allura, eyes wide, jaw dropped open in disbelief. He cannot process what she has done for him - the scale of the gift she has just given him. She beams at him, as bright as the sun, and asks him a question.

" _You like it_?"

He understands her words, but he has no way of telling her how much the arm means to him, or how amazing it feels. He pulls her into a hug instead, because words will not do here - they would never be enough, even if they spoke the same language. He whispers his thanks in her ear, but she may never know the full weight of it. He has no way to convey it to her.

She pulls back and runs her hand down the prosthetic, and raises her eyebrows in a question. With some stops and starts she manages to ask him if he can feel her touch on the metal, and he manages to tell her that he does. She turns the metal palm over in her hand and touches the tips of the fingers, and Shiro watches her as she raises the hand to her lips and kisses the back of his palm.

" _Musna_ ," she says. It means 'come'.

+

She takes him by the hand and leads him up the stairs towards the top of the tower. There, on the highest floor, she shows him into her chambers. She has a spacious, airy suite, tastefully appointed with sofas and soft drapes, and she tugs him excitedly by the hand and takes him out onto the balcony.

A soft breeze wends in off the forest, and Shiro gazes out at her world. He has never seen it in the night time before. Two moons hang in the sky, shimmering like silver coins, and the stars wink back at him. Allura stands beside him, her fingers still caught in the palm of his hand, and she murmurs something softly into the darkness.

" _Mesnalya_ ," Shiro says. _Beautiful_.

He turns to Allura where she stands beside him, and she gazes up at him. Her eyes sparkle in the moonlight - the way they have in countless dreams in the years they have spent apart.

When he was here before, he did not know how to act on his feelings. He thought he needed pretty words or clever lines to woo her, to convince her to love him. But this is love that transcends words. They have always understood each other, in spite of everything, and now when he meets her gaze he knows exactly what she wants.

He reaches out with the hand she gave him and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

" _Mesnalya_ ," he whispers to her.

She smiles, and there is light in his chest where his heart should be, and the sadness that lay on his bones is gone - there is only love there instead, carved deep inside him, deeper than the dark. Allura runs her hands over his chest, and the touch sets his heart alight, like a spark set to kindling. She leans up, her eyes on his lips - waiting. Inviting.

He leans down and kisses her. Their lips meet, and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into it, and he is suddenly warm and alive. His heart soars; warmth like sunlight floods his veins, driving out shadows, pushing back against the clinging darkness.

She kisses him; presses her body close to his, runs her hands into his hair. Then she pulls back to look at him, and his eyes search her face even as he smiles, and she answers him with a smile and another kiss. She pulls him towards her bed and he follows, his hands on her waist, feeling for the curve of her hip as he closes his eyes and sinks into the way she kisses him.

There are no words for this. In any language. This is older than words. She tugs his shirt off over his head and runs her hands along his bare skin and kisses the scars she finds there. Her lips find the shape of old wounds, and his scars are no longer cracks; now they are delicate patterns telling stories on his skin. He pulls off her tunic; unwraps her clothes in layers, like the petals of a flower; kisses every inch of her he uncovers.

There are no words, in any language, for how good it feels to hold her in his arms; to run his hands along the curves of her body; to move within her as she clings to him. She is breathless and beautiful and needy, and he presses kisses into her skin and loses himself inch by inch as she cries out in her pleasure. He does not need words to tell her how much he wants her; it is there in every touch. They hold on to each other - and this is a language they both speak, finally; a language that has existed since the stars began. They move together and come apart together, and their pleasure requires no translation.

He lies beside her afterwards, holding her in his arms still, and she smiles softly at him as he runs his hands over her skin. A feeling of peace settles deep inside him. He has never known happiness like this.

Allura murmurs sweet words at him - some he understands and some he does not - and she presses her fingers to his skin.

" _Mesnalya_ ," he says to her. He hopes she knows what he means: that she is beautiful, in every aspect. He runs his hand through her hair and says it again - _mesnalya_ \- and whispers it as he kisses her fingertips - _mesnalya_ \- and then he taps her forehead and says it again. _Mesnalya_. He does not know the word for 'mind', but she seems to grasp his meaning nonetheless.

She smiles as she kisses him. Then she leans back, a playful expression in her eyes. She runs her hand down her body until it glides over the curve of her breast, and Shiro watches the movement; watches the way she circles her nipple with her fingers.

" _Mesnalya_?" she asks with a grin, and Shiro laughs.

" _Tay, mesnalya_ ," he says, and she dissolves into giggles. Even her laughter is like music, and as Shiro holds her in his arms and smiles and kisses her he thinks about how few words it takes to love her.

+

He spends almost all of his time with her, going so far as to sleep in the tower beside her. The juniberry flowers burst and bloom, and their fragrance fills the forest glade, and Shiro stays in Allura's world for days at a time. He returns through the gate only occasionally, to change his clothes or run down the hill to check up on his parents - and then he returns, drawn back to Allura and her tower in the forest.

These are days of bliss the like of which he has never known - not even in dreams. Allura teaches him how to attach the prosthetic arm, and how to detach it when he sleeps, and how to clean and maintain it so that the mechanisms will keep working. She shows him her workshop and the other devices she makes there - and this is another language Shiro speaks, the language of metal and fire that he learned in the blacksmith's forge. Her work is incredible, and when she catches his awed expression she beams with pride.

They walk together through the woods, hand in hand, sometimes talking and sometimes not. Shiro kisses her in sunbeams; plucks flowers for her and laughs when she blushes; he makes love to her on the forest floor, hands clasped together in the earth and moss, and they return to the tower grubby but happy. He learns new words: _kiss_ and _bathe_ and _morning_ and _breakfast_.

He lies with her at night - and she is radiant in love, sparkling like sunlight on water, and every kiss tastes like endless joy. He falls asleep beside her, tired and content, and wakes up to find her still in his arms.

Sometimes the nightmares find him, even in this world of peace and goodness. But when he awakes panting and wide-eyed Allura is there at his side. She runs her hands over his brow and whispers soothing words in his ear and sings to him until he sleeps again. There is no judgement in her eyes. There is only affection, and understanding.

They make love in the mornings, tangled in her bed together, and they eat breakfast in bed sometimes, when they are too lazy to rise and go down the stairs to the kitchen. Some days they do nothing but sit outside in the glade and enjoy the sunlight, and some days they wander down to the river to dangle their feet in the cool water. The bone-deep ache that used to cling to Shiro's limbs dissipates and fades. There is only joy, now, simple and sweet and pure; and Allura by his side, her laughter like music, her eyes sparkling like stars whenever she smiles at him.

+

A voice in the back of his mind whispers to him that this cannot last, and in the gaps between moments of happiness he thinks about all the ways that this is doomed. He has parents who need him, and friends; he has the farm and the work and his life. He cannot leave his mother to cough out her lungs alone by the fire. They will need him all the more as the years go on.

He understands, on a bone-deep level, that he is the only person from his world who can cross the archway. The juniberry tree calls to him and him alone; the gateway opens solely for him. To anyone else, it would look like nothing more than a fallen ruin in a forest glade. He and he alone can pass through into Allura's world.

Sometimes he thinks about asking Allura to come back with him and live with him on the farm. But whenever he glances around at the bustle and hum of her forest glade, he knows that would never work. She has her own life here, and she is clearly needed and loved by the people who come to her workshop. She crafts prosthetics for people, and aids to help them with walking or standing, and her customers leave the workshop smiling through tears of joy. As far as Shiro can tell, she does not charge a penny for her services. The crystals she uses to make the devices work all seem to come from the surrounding hillside - and this is a magic that does not exist in his own world, and that, too, makes him reluctant to even ask her to come through the archway with him and leave her world behind. Would she even have access to such powers, there? What would she do? And what would happen to the people she leaves behind?

This will all have to end, eventually. But he will take what joy he can in the days he has with her, and try not to think about the ending.

+

And then it comes abruptly, and he is not prepared for it.

Allura stands with him by the archway and kisses him goodbye, and he smiles into the kiss and tells her - as best he can - that he will be back soon. The flowers still bloom; their scent still hangs in the air, and the glimmer of them still lights up the leaves. They have time, he thinks. Another few days at least. There is time to love her more, hold her again, hear her laugh and see her smile.

Still, she curls her fingers into his as he steps away, and he looks back and smiles as she reluctantly lets him go, and that is the last he sees of her before he steps back through the archway.

+

Clouds scud across the sky in his own world, and a chill wind shakes the branches as Shiro hurries down the forest path to the farmhouse. He finds his father sitting on the porch, watching the workers in the fields. He goes inside and kisses his mother where she stands at the kitchen table.

They ask how he is and he tells them: well. He is well, and happy. His mother notices the light in his eyes and smiles, and he hugs her fondly. Keith comes in from the barn and they go over the farm business, and then Shiro talks with his father for a while and rubs his leg where it still aches, and by that time the sun is setting and he thinks it is time to go back. Allura will be waiting. There will be hot food on the kitchen table in the tower, and a warm breeze through the open windows, and he already misses the softness of her eyes and the shape of her lips against his own.

+

He heads out into the woods and begins the steep climb back up to the glade. But the wind picks up; the clouds overhead turn slate-grey, and the first heavy drops of rain fall on the canopy of leaves above him.

He pauses and looks up. Thunder rumbles against the mountains, and the sky flickers white.

His mother is scared of the thunder. It sounds like explosions, and when she hears it she remembers the war and her hands shake and her eyes drift far away. At those times, she needs him the most; she clings to his arm as she sits by the fire and he tries to soothe her with soft words.

Shiro glances up the mountain path, towards the glade and the gateway. But he cannot leave his mother alone in a storm like this. He turns around and goes back.

+

By the time he reaches the farmhouse, the rain is falling in earnest. He strips off his shirt and changes into dry clothes and Keith builds up a fire in the drawing room. His mother sits huddled in her armchair, her eyes glazed with terror, and Shiro gently coaxes her up and moves her to sit next to him by the fireplace. She clings to his hand - like he knew she would - and he drapes a blanket around her shoulders and talks to her in a low voice.

He tells her about the woman in the wood who loves him - the woman whose eyes are like starlight, whose laughter is like music, whose smile is a blessing from the heavens. His mother calms down as he talks, and as the story goes on she even smiles a little and chides him for making up such wild fantasies.

He wants to tell her it is all real. But no one has ever believed him when he tells them about the juniberry tree and the gateway to another world. So he just smiles and keeps going, pretending it is all a made-up story, and his mother leans into his shoulder and listens as the storm passes.

+

He sleeps in the farmhouse that night, and the next day he is up with the dawn and hurrying back up the hill towards the clearing in the forest.

The storm has left scars in its wake, and Shiro picks his way past fallen branches and twigs as he climbs up, up onto the hillside. The damp smell of the forest after rain fills the air, and he does not think to wonder why he can no longer smell the scent of juniberry flowers, even when he draws near to the glade.

And then he crests the rise and looks down into the dell and understands it. The archway is gone.

The branch that used to hang just so over the pillars has fallen, ripped down by the wind. Broken flowers lie scattered across the clearing, petals damp and bruised, and the few blossoms that remain on the tree no longer shine with magical light.

"No," Shiro whispers. He runs to the pillars; to the tree branch, bare of leaves or flowers, that now lies in the moss at his feet. He falls to his knees and stares at the archway - at the gateway that is no longer there.

"No," he says again. "No…"

There is no scent of juniberry blossoms. There is no call in his heart, tugging him home through the archway. There is nothing. Allura and her world are gone.

+

In the days that follow, his mother notes his sadness. But the worst of it is that he cannot explain it to her. Or anyone. What can he say? He went through a magical archway and fell in love with a woman on the other side, and now there is no way back to her. It sounds like fantasy. It is unbelievable.

The only thing he has to prove it is the prosthetic arm that she gave him. But when he shows it to his parents - when he puts it on in front of them and shows them how it works - they scold him for accepting gifts from the fey.

"What fairy queen did you swear fealty to in exchange for that infernal device?" his father demands, and try as he might Shiro cannot get them to accept any other explanation for it. Eventually his parents and Keith between them decide that this 'mysterious woman in the forest' was simply a travelling craftswoman with a cursed fey gift, and they nail up horseshoes over the farmhouse door and leave gifts of sugar and thyme out for the fair folk in the hopes they will not come knocking.

Still, 'Shiro fell in love with a fairy and she gave him a magical arm as a gift' is a rumour that runs around every village in the valleys for months.

No one believes him. Allura is gone, and no one even believes that she was real.

+

Shiro swallows his sadness and keeps going, but this is not living, and he knows deep in his heart that he will never love again. The memory of the few days he spent with Allura shines bright inside him, and he keeps it safe, like a scrap of starlight trapped in a crystal. She lives now only in his mind, and in his dreams she comes to sing sweetly to him - but there is no way back to her now. Even if the juniberry tree blooms again, there is no archway. No gateway to her world. She is gone forever.

+

The years roll by, tumbling over each other, and Shiro is always caught halfway between clinging to the memory of Allura and hoping to forget her. At least the prosthetic allows him to go back and work with the blacksmith again. The arm is not quite strong enough for heavy work, but with some practice and ingenuity Shiro is able to master working on smaller pieces. Every time he sits down to craft some small, delicate thing he remembers Allura's workshop, and the way she made art out of metal, and somehow she does not feel so far away from him in those moments.

It is a small comfort, but he will take it.

He leaves the management of the farm to Keith, but he spends most of his nights in the farmhouse with his parents. He no longer hides his sorrows in the woods, and there are days when the melancholy threatens to consume him - but it is better to be with them, he realises. He sits beside his father on the porch and listens to his stories, and he helps his mother move around the house when she cannot get comfortable, and they sit together in the evenings and talk and laugh or share companionable silence.

His mother asks him, sometimes, if he intends to marry. He evades the question. There is only one person he could ever consider marrying, and she lives a world away, in a tower bathed in sunlight.

+

When he is thirty, his mother dies.

The taint that marked her lungs finally consumes her until she cannot draw breath at all, and nothing the apothecary gives her can help, and Shiro sits by her bedside and holds her hand while she passes. They bury her at the foot of the hillside and burn incense in her memory, and his father sits and stares at nothing and barely eats.

He fades away, a piece at a time.

Shiro watches his father's grief and thinks about Allura; about her sitting alone in the forest waiting for him, and giving up and walking back to the tower and wondering what became of him. He walks out under the trees and sits by his mother's grave and cries.

"She was real," he whispers. "She was real, and I loved her more than life itself. But I'll never see her again."

+

His father dies not long after, carrying his broken heart to the grave. Shiro buries him beside his mother, and the whole village comes to pay respects, but he is still alone in his grief. Still utterly alone.

The farmhouse feels too empty, now. The workers come and go, and Keith is a permanent fixture like always, but the house itself isn't home anymore. It is just an empty shell.

Keith keeps an eye on him, and he is grateful, because without it he'd forget to eat or sleep. After a while he goes back to work at the blacksmith's, but his heart is heavy and there is an ache in his chest that never quite fades.

+

"You should think about seeing someone," Keith urges him, one night as they sit by the fire. "You know. Romantically."

"I don't want to see anyone," Shiro says.

"You're not still hung up on that woman from the forest, are you?" Keith asks. "Is she even real? I thought she was just your imaginary friend."

"She was real, Keith. Unless you think I'm crazy?"

Keith throws up his hands in apology. "I don't think that. But even if she's real… you said this gateway closed, right?"

Shiro nods. His eyes stray to the fire, and his gaze goes unfocused, so that the flames blur and blend together. And he thinks about her forge in her workshop, and the sunset over the tower, and how warm and good and sweet she felt in his arms.

"Then you need to move on," Keith says. But his words seem to come from far away. From another world, or another life. And Shiro doesn't know how to say that he has tried. He has tried to forget; he has tried to move on. He has tried to move his heart to love again, to let someone else in. But nothing works. The marks of her love are carved onto his very soul.

They loved beyond words. How can he ever love again after that?

+

He tries not to count the years, but he knows in his heart when it is time for the juniberry tree to blossom again. He throws himself into work and tries not to think about the clearing in the forest, or the archway that no longer exists. Even if the tree blooms this year, there will be no gateway to her world. The path there is closed forever.

But as the summer days lengthen, he dreams of her. Every night, like a ghost. He dreams of her smile and her laugh, and the way her fingers felt in the palm of his hand, and he awakens with a heavy heart.

There is a loneliness within him that will not leave him be.

+

He does not want to go to the forest. He does not want to torture himself. But he knows, deep within his soul, that the tree will soon bloom.

He gives up. He climbs the hill.

+

The glade looks different this year. The storm seven years ago knocked some branches off the surrounding trees, so that the clearing is less shaded and more open to the sunlight. The juniberry tree looks different too. The storm must have damaged it, because only a few white buds cling to the branches, like stars waiting to be born. They will blossom, soon; but there is no archway now for them to form. No branch that hangs between the pillars just so, calling him into another world.

The tree and the pillars blur before him, and he blinks back tears.

"Please," he whispers. He sinks to his knees - not knowing what for, or why, or if there is even anyone to answer his call. "Please. Let me through. Let me go back."

The tears come, now: because this place has always felt like home, it has always felt private and safe, and he can cry here in the forest, on his knees in the dirt, and admit to himself that his life is empty and dark with loneliness. He has no family left, and the only person he has ever truly loved is lost to him forever. He cries until his throat is hoarse, with no one to witness his grief except the birds and the sunlight and the buds of juniberry flowers waiting to bloom.

And then it comes to him. The sound of her voice.

He looks up, startled, his helpless heart half-expecting to see her standing in front of him. But the sound fades, and he thinks he must have imagined it.

A breeze stirs through the glade, rustling the leaves and moving the branches - and he hears it again. She is singing. He is not imagining it. Her song drifts to him through the archway - and then vanishes like mist.

He stares up at the tree and the branches and the pillars. The wind comes again - and this time he sees it.

A branch, flimsy and weak, with a few small buds peeking out between the leaves. As the wind blows, the branch shifts and lies across the space between the two pillars. The sound of singing comes suddenly, instantly - echoing through the archway in whispers - and then the wind dies down and the branch drops and the sound fades.

Shiro scrambles to his knees and rushes across the clearing. He climbs the pillar as best he can, the metal of his prosthetic scraping on the stone, and leans out to snag the branch in his fingers. Gently - carefully - he pulls the branch towards him. Vines of ivy still climb the sides of the pillar, and Shiro tugs some free and uses them to bind the branch to the stone.

He drops back down to the forest floor and stares up at his handiwork.

An archway, of sorts. And three flower buds waiting to bloom.

He lays his hand on the pillar and leans in close. The sound of Allura singing on the other side drifts through, like the whisper of a ghost.

He glances up at the tree, his heart hammering in his chest. The first petals are just beginning to uncurl from the flowers, and he knows by now what that means. Tomorrow. They will bloom tomorrow. Will there be enough to open the gateway? He has to hope that there will be. He has to hope that she is singing for him in the glade because she is calling for him once again.

A day, then. He has a day.

+

He goes down to the farmhouse and pulls out the documents from the chest in his father's old office. He finds the deed to the farm and tucks it safely into an envelope, along with a note, and addresses the whole thing to Keith. He goes to his room and packs up the few things he cannot do without. Some clothes. A spare pair of boots. Keepsakes and mementos. A locket of his mother's, and a book his father gave him.

+

He walks into the village and tells the blacksmith he is going away for a while, perhaps forever. He thanks the man for all his help over the years. Then he goes and bids farewell to a few other acquaintances in the village. He walks back to the farmhouse feeling curiously light.

The worrying voice in the back of his head asks him what he will do if the gateway does not open. If Allura is not there. If she tells him she does not want him. But as he walks back to the farm he thinks that he will probably leave, one way or the other. If her world is not open to him, he will take his pack and cross the mountains. He will walk until he forgets her. And if he never forgets her, he will simply keep walking until he dies.

+

He tells Keith his plan. The younger man looks sceptical.

"Can't you just get over her like a normal person?" he asks.

"I've tried," Shiro says, as they sit together on the porch and watch the sunset. "I've tried, and I can't. So this is what I'm going to do."

"You're going to try and break into the land of the fairies," Keith says. "With an archway you made yourself."

"Well, if you want to put it like that…"

"I do."

They sit in silence for a long time before Keith speaks again.

"You haven't really been here these last few years," he says softly. "Sometimes I feel like you're already gone."

"I'm sorry," Shiro says. "I've tried to be here. But I left my heart in another world."

"You're always so melodramatic," Keith says, but he smiles fondly nonetheless.

+

Keith is already awake when Shiro rises to leave the next morning. They embrace on the porch of the farmhouse, and Shiro feels Keith's eyes on his back as he crosses the fields and disappears beneath the trees.

+

He climbs the hill as the sun rises, the day already warm. Birds sing in the branches, and bees hum in the air, and he is four years old again, running up the hill not knowing what he will find. He is eleven, convinced his childhood friend was not a dream. He is eighteen, about to discover what love is. He is twenty-five, broken and scarred, thinking himself unworthy of being loved and healed.

His footsteps carry him through the trees, and the sweet scent of the juniberry flowers calls to him, and he follows them home.

+

When he reaches the glade, he finds the flowers blooming.

The branch is still tied to the pillar, held down by the vines, and three fresh blossoms hang between the leaves. Shiro halts at the edge of the glade, not daring to breathe. But the air between the pillars shimmers; the grass on the other side is different, somehow. He recognises the shape of the trees.

The gateway. It is open.

A breeze blows through the clearing, and the branch shifts and moves - and for a moment, the other world vanishes, and a shot of cold panic spears through Shiro's heart. But the wind dies down and the branch settles and the air flickers once more.

Shiro shoulders his pack and steps up to the gate. This will be a one-way trip. He feels it in his bones. His archway is not sturdy enough to last, and there are so few flowers this year. The magic will fade and the branch will sag and the vines will snap. The gateway will close. Even as he watches and waits, another gust of wind disturbs the archway and tugs at the flower petals. There is no time to wait. No time to reconsider.

He takes a deep breath, and steps through.

+

The juniberry tree stands behind him - and here, in this world, the blooms are just as sparse and the branches just as bare. The sight of it tugs at Shiro's heart. What must Allura have thought when she saw this? Would she even expect him to return?

The clearing stands empty, and the sky above him is overcast. Sullen grey clouds drift lazily above the hills, and an uncharacteristic chill hangs in the air. It is strange to be here with the sky so dark, and a breathless hush hanging over the woodland. He associates this world with sunlight and warmth, not darkness.

He wanders down to the riverside. There is no sign of Allura, only the slow running river, the water washing over the rocks. The dark sky and a few spots of rain. He looks around, but there is no one here. A few birds wheel overhead, but other than that, there is no sign of life.

He finds the path in the wood that leads to the tower, and as he climbs up through the trees he wonders at the silence that hangs around him. Perhaps he just dreamed Allura's voice in the clearing yesterday. Perhaps she never was there, singing to him, calling him back to her. Maybe she is gone, and his own grief-addled brain simply conjured her voice from thin air to comfort him.

His boots crunch on the twigs and leaves and he climbs higher, up towards the tower of white stone.

Perhaps she does not want him. She is not waiting for him. She sang for nostalgia, but secretly she is relieved that he did not return. Perhaps she will turn him away - and he will wander forever in this strange world, haunted by living ghosts.

He nears the top of the hill, and through the trees he glimpses the white stone of the tower.

Sounds drift down to him on the breeze. The chatter of voices and the cluck of hens. The mechanical grind of some device or other. Now he smells woodsmoke, and the scent of a herb garden. He crests the hill and steps out of the treeline and stops and stares.

The clearing stands before him, the white tower rising proud above the forest, still bedecked in vines and ivy. Even more outhouses now cluster around its base. The workshop is larger, now, and several small huts occupy the space near the end of the cloisters. It is still early, and the chill of morning still touches the air, but already several servants and assistants are up and about, bustling between the buildings.

Shiro steps forward, into the field of flowers. It is like a ribbon in his soul pulls him forward, tugs at him, calls to him. His feet carry him towards the workshop, its huge doors thrown open to the morning air.

She stands beside a long workbench, a tool in her hand as she surveys some metal parts laid out before her. His heart stops when he sees her; the pack drops from his shoulder. Her eyes still sparkle. She is as beautiful and lovely and radiant as she has ever been. And he cannot breathe, he cannot speak; he can only walk forward, as if in a daze, his eyes fixed on her and no one else.

She looks up, and their eyes meet. She drops the tool she is holding, and her hand flies to her mouth. And then she is running, out of the workshop and into the grass, running towards him - and they are four years old, and he has come to play - they are eleven, and he doesn't know why his heart beats so fast when he looks at her - they are eighteen, hands clasped together, too shy to act on what they feel - and they are twenty-five, impossibly in love, helplessly drawn together and ripped apart. And then she is in his arms, and he picks her up and twirls her around and holds her, and through tears he hears her voice, and even though she sobs out words he does not know he somehow understands her completely. As he always has.

"I missed you so much," he whispers. "I came back. I had to come back."

He sets her down and she pulls back to look at him - and he gazes at her in disbelief. He cannot believe she is real. Her hands reach for his face and she runs her fingers over his cheeks, down his neck to his chest. She is crying even as she smiles, and he reaches out and brushes the tears from her cheek with his thumb.

"I love you," he says, and whether she fully understands or not, she surges up to kiss him anyway. She presses her lips to his and he drinks her in; his arms tighten around her and he cannot pull away, even though part of him is vaguely aware of people staring, and servants stopping in their chores to watch them both. But her lips taste like happiness, like love, like the one place he has always felt at peace and at home - and he cannot let her go, not again, not ever. He kisses her over and over and pulls back to look at her, to rest his forehead against hers and grin even as the tears fall from his eyes.

A high, sweet voice rings out across the clearing - a child's voice. Allura looks away, and Shiro follows her gaze to where a little girl comes running out of the tower. The girl catches sight of him and stops in her tracks.

Shiro's heart stops beating. The girl looks like Allura - dark skin, pink marks under her eyes - but she has his eyes. And black hair, like a crow's wing.

Allura beckons the child over, but when she still hesitates Allura goes to pick her up. She carries the girl back to Shiro, murmuring softly to her as does. She points at Shiro.

" _Ubdi_ ," she says. " _Ubdiya_."

She said it once, in this clearing. To a man wearing a crown. _Father_.

Allura smiles up at him. He gestures to himself, still disbelieving.

"Mine?" he asks, and she nods. She gestures between them, and then she lays a hand on his chest.

" _Ubdi_ ," she says again. Father.

He looks at the girl - at his daughter, the resemblance so clear - and if there had been any doubt before there would be none now. He is home, and he will never leave again.

" _Ilas_ ," he says to the child. His child.

Allura points at her. "Junira," she says - a name. And it sounds so much like juniberries that Shiro cannot help but smile.

Junira clings to Allura's shoulder and looks at him, her dark eyes already so quick and bright, but she says nothing.

" _Ilas_ ," Shiro says again, and waves gently at her with his metal hand. Her eyes stray to the golden fingers, and back to his face, and she buries her head in Allura's shoulder. But she peers out at him from beneath her hair. Perhaps it will take time for her to overcome her shyness - but Shiro can give her that. He will give her every year of his life he has left.

He turns back to Allura, and taps the centre of his chest.

" _Safray yen_ ," he says. He gestures around at the clearing, at the world, at the tower and the workshop and the woods. " _El safray yen_."

It means: I will stay here.

Allura stares at him in disbelief. Then she looks over his shoulder, to the pack he dropped in the grass, and her eyes fly back to his face. Her mouth drops open.

" _Du safray yen_?" she says, and he nods.

Her eyes fill with tears, and he pulls her into his embrace. She sobs into his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her and Junira and kisses the side of her cheek and whispers in her ear that she shouldn't cry even as he blinks back his own tears.

Junira squirms, and says something to Allura that sounds like a grumble of discomfort. Allura chokes back a laugh and pulls back so she can set the little girl down on the grass. Junira, clearly unhappy about being squished and much happier to be free, runs off, and Shiro watches her go.

" _Du safray yen_?" Allura asks again. " _Heena_?"

" _Heena_ ," Shiro says. That one means 'truthfully'. He has a lot to learn, he thinks. But all the time in the world to learn it. He looks at Allura, radiant in her joy, and kisses her softly on the lips. He looks back at Junira - his daughter. _Their_ daughter. And there is sunlight where his heart should be.

Junira runs back up to him, her headlong gallop slowing to a thoughtful walk as she draws hear.

" _Musna_ ," she says, and beckons to him. " _Ubdi, musna yen_."

She darts for his hand, tiny fingers curling around the metal, and tugs him towards her. The shyness is gone, and Shiro cannot help but grin at the ease of it. She pulls him by the hand across the clearing. There are things she wants to show him, he guesses: bugs hiding under leaves, hens scratching in the henhouse, or her favourite toys. He will have to learn some new words, now: _daughter_ and _bedtime_ and _play_ and _game_. But he will learn all of them, in time.

Allura follows them as Junira drags him all the way into the tower and up to the stairs to what he can only guess is her bedroom. She talks excitedly all the way, and when they reach her chambers she points at her bed and her chair and the books on the shelves. She picks up her toys and runs over to him to show him each one in turn: a wagon, a doll, a set of miniature tools like her mother uses to make devices.

Allura steps up beside him and wraps her arm around his waist, and Shiro drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side. This is joy like he has never tasted before. This is peace like he has never known.

" _Du-rus ayati_ ," Allura murmurs to him, and he understands her perfectly. 'You are home'. He buries a kiss in her hair, and she turns to look up at him and meet his gaze.

He will learn every word of her language, he thinks. He will learn all the ways to say _I love you_ , and he will say it every day. Sometimes with words, and sometimes without. He will run in the grass with his daughter; take her to the river, ask her where the frogs live. Show her how to skip stones. He will sleep beside Allura in her bed and wake up to find her still in his arms, and he will learn how to say all the things he needs to say: _I have loved you since I was a child_ and _I will never leave you again_ and _you make my heart sing songs it doesn't even know_. But right now there is only one thing he needs to say, and he already knows enough words to say it.

" _El-ri ayati_ ," he whispers to her. _I am home_.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! comments are always nice, even if they're just keysmashes. or you can come scream at me on tumblr @smolsarcasticraspberry


End file.
